Part 99
“Yes, I was a climbing-boy, and sarved a rigler printiceship for seven years. I was out on my printiceship when I was fourteen. Father was a silk-weaver, and did all he knew to keep me from being a sweep, but I would be a sweep, and nothink else.” [This is not so very uncommon a predilection, strange as it may seem.] “So father, when he saw it was no use, got me bound printice. Father’s alive now, and near 90 years of age. I don’t know why I wished to be a sweep, ’cept it was this--there was sweeps always lived about here, and I used to see the boys with lots of money a tossin’ and gamblin’, and wished to have money too. You see they got money where they swept the chimneys; they used to get 2_d._ or 3_d._ for theirselves in a day, and sometimes 6_d._ from the people of the house, and that’s the way they always had plenty of money. I niver thought anythink of the climbing; it wasn’t so bad at all as some people would make you believe. There are two or three ways of climbing. In wide flues you climb with your elbows and your legs spread out, your feet pressing against the sides of the flue; but in narrow flues, such as nine-inch ones, you must slant it; you must have your sides in the angles, it’s wider there, and go up just that way.” [Here he threw himself into position--placing one arm close to his side, with the palm of the hand turned outwards, as if pressing the side of the flue, and extending the other arm high above his head, the hand apparently pressing in the same manner.] “There,” he continued, “that’s slantin’. You just put yourself in that way, and see how small you make yourself. I niver got to say stuck myself, but a many of them did; yes, and were taken out dead. They were smothered for want of air, and the fright, and a stayin’ so long in the flue; you see the waistband of their trowsers sometimes got turned down in the climbing, and in narrow flues, when not able to get it up, then they stuck. I had a boy once--we were called to sweep a chimney down at Poplar. When we went in he looked up the flues, ‘Well, what is it like?’ I said. ‘Very narrow,’ says he, ‘don’t think I can get up there;’ so after some time we gets on top of the house, and takes off the chimney-pot, and has a look down--it was wider a’ top, and I thought as how he could go down. ‘You had better buff it, Jim,’ says I. I suppose you know what that means; but Jim wouldn’t do it, and kept his trowsers on. So down he goes, and gets on very well till he comes to the shoulder of the flue, and then he couldn’t stir. He shouts down, ‘I’m stuck.’ I shouts up and tells him what to do. ‘Can’t move,’ says he, ‘I’m stuck hard and fast.’ Well, the people of the house got fretted like, but I says to them, ‘Now my boy’s stuck, but for Heaven’s sake don’t make a word of noise; don’t say a word, good or bad, and I’ll see what I can do.’ So I locks the door, and buffs it, and forces myself up till I could reach him with my hand, and as soon as he got his foot on my hand he begins to prize himself up, and gets loosened, and comes out at the top again. I was stuck myself, but I was stronger nor he, and I manages to get out again. Now I’ll be bound to say if there was another master there as would kick up a row and a-worrited, that ere boy ’ud a niver come out o’ that ere flue alive. There was a many o’ them lost their lives in that way. Most all the printices used to come from the ‘House’ (workhouse.) There was nobody to care for them, and some masters used them very bad. I was out of my time at fourteen, and began to get too stout to go up the flues; so after knockin’ about for a year or so, as I could do nothink else, I goes to sea on board a man-o’-war, and was away four year. Many of the boys, when they got too big and useless, used to go to sea in them days--they couldn’t do nothink else. Yes, many of them went for sodgers; and I know some who went for Gipsies, and others who went for play-actors, and a many who got on to be swell-mobsmen, and thieves, and housebreakers, and the like o’ that ere. There ain’t nothink o’ that sort a-goin’ on now since the Ack of Parliament. When I got back from sea father asked me to larn his business; so I takes to the silk-weaving and larned it, and then married a weaveress, and worked with father for a long time. Father was very well off--well off and comfortable for a poor man--but trade was good then. But it got bad afterwards, and none on us was able to live at it; so I takes to the chimney-sweeping again. _A man might manage to live somehow at the sweeping, but the weaving was o’ no use._ It was the furrin silks as beat us all up, that’s the whole truth. Yet they tells us as how they was a-doin’ the country good; but they may tell that to the marines--the sailors won’t believe it--not a word on it. I’ve stuck to the sweeping ever since, and sometimes done very fair at it; but since the Ack there’s so many leeks come to it that I don’t know how they live--they must be eatin’ one another up.
“Well, since you ask then, I can tell you that our people don’t care much about law; they don’t understand anythink about politics much; they don’t mind things o’ that ere kind. They only minds to get drunk when they can. Some on them fellows as you seed in there niver cleans theirselves from one year’s end to the other. They’ll kick up a row soon enough, with Chartists or anybody else. I thinks them Chartists are a weak-minded set; they was too much a frightened at nothink,--a hundred o’ them would run away from one blue-coat, and that wasn’t like men. I was often at Chartist meetings, and if they’d only do all they said there was a plenty to stick to them, for there’s a somethink wants to be done very bad, for everythink is a-gettin’ worser and worser every day. I used to do a good trade, but now I don’t yarn a shilling a day all through the year (?). I may walk at this time three or four miles and not get a chimney to sweep, and then get only a sixpence or threepence, and sometimes nothink. It’s a starvin’, that’s what it is; there’s so much ‘querying’ a-goin’ on. Querying? that’s what we calls under-working[61]. If they’d all fix a riglar price we might do very well still. I’m 50 years of age, or thereabouts. I don’t know much about the story of Mrs. Montague; it was afore my time. I heard of it though. I heard my mother talk about it; she used to read it out of books; she was a great reader--none on ’em could stand afore her for that. I was often at the dinner--the masters’ dinner--that was for the boys; but that’s all done away long ago, since the Ack of Parliament. I can’t tell how many there was at it, but there’s such a lot it’s impossible to tell. How could any one tell all the sweeps as is in London? I’m sure I can’t, and I’m sure nobody else can.”
Some years back the sweepers’ houses were often indicated by an elaborate sign, highly coloured. A sweeper, accompanied by a “chummy” (once a common name for the climbing-boy, being a corruption of chimney), was depicted on his way to a red brick house, from the chimneys of which bright yellow flames were streaming. Below was the detail of the things undertaken by the sweep, such as the extinction of fires in chimneys, the cleaning of smoke-jacks, &c., &c. A few of these signs, greatly faded, may be seen still. A sweeper, who is settled in what is accounted a “genteel neighbourhood,” has now another way of making his calling known. He leaves a card whenever he hears of a new comer, a tape being attached, so that it can be hung up in the kitchen, and thus the servants are always in possession of his address. The following is a customary style:--
“Chimneys swept by the improved machine, much patronized by the Humane Society.
“W. H., Chimney Sweeper and Nightman, 1, ---- Mews, in returning thanks to the inhabitants of the surrounding neighbourhood for the patronage he has hitherto received, begs to inform them that he sweeps all kinds of chimneys and flues in the best manner.
“W. H., attending to the business himself, cleans smoke-jacks, cures smoky coppers, and extinguishes chimneys when on fire, with the greatest care and safety; and, by giving the strictest personal attendance to business, performs what he undertakes with cleanliness and punctuality, whereby he hopes to ensure a continuance of their favours and recommendations.
“Clean cloths for upper apartments. Soot-doors to any size fixed. Observe the address, 1, ---- Mews, near ----.”
At the top of this card is an engraving of the machine; at the foot a rude sketch of a nightman’s cart, with men at work. All the cards I saw reiterated the address, so that no mistake might lead the customer to a rival tradesman.
_As to their politics_, the sweepers are somewhat similar to the dustmen and costermongers. A fixed hatred to all constituted authority, which they appear to regard as the police and the “beaks,” seems to be the sum total of their principles. Indeed, it almost assumes the character of a fixed law, that persons and classes of persons who are themselves disorderly, and to a certain extent lawless, always manifest the most supreme contempt for the conservators of law and order in every degree. The police are therefore hated heartily, magistrates are feared and abominated, and Queen, Lords, and Commons, and every one in authority, if known anything about, are considered as natural enemies. A costermonger who happened to be present while I was making inquiries on this subject, broke in with this remark, “The costers is the chaps--the government can’t do nothink with them--they allus licks the government.” The sweepers have a sovereign contempt for all Acts of Parliament, because the only Act that had any reference to themselves “threw open,” as they call it, their business to all who were needy enough and who had the capability of availing themselves of it. Like the “dusties” they are, I am informed, in their proper element in times of riot and confusion; but, unlike them, they are, to a man, Chartists, understanding it too, and approving of it, not because it would be calculated to establish a new order of things, but in the hope that, in the transition from one system to the other, there might be plenty of noise and riot, and in the vague idea that in some indefinable manner good must necessarily accrue to themselves from any change that might take place. This I believe to be in perfect keeping with the sentiments of similar classes of people in every country in the world.
The journeymen lay by no money when in work, as a fund to keep them when incapacitated by sickness, accident, or old age. There are, however, a few exceptions to the general improvidence of the class; some few belong to sick and benefit societies, others are members of burial clubs. Where, however, this is not the case, and a sweeper becomes unable, through illness, to continue his work, the mode usually adopted is to make a raffle for the benefit of the sufferer; the same means are resorted to at the death of a member of the trade. When a chimney-sweeper becomes infirm through age, he has mostly, if not invariably, no refuge but the workhouse.
_The chimney-sweepers generally are regardless of the marriage ceremony_, and when they do live with a woman it is in a state of concubinage. These women are always among the lowest of the street-girls--such as lucifer-match and orange girls, some of the very poorest of the coster girls, and girls brought up among the sweepers. They are treated badly by them, and often enough left without any remorse. The women are equally as careless in these matters as the men, and exchange one paramour for another with the same levity, so that there is a promiscuous intercourse continually going on among them. I am informed that, among the worst class of sweepers living with women, not one in 50 is married. To these couples very few children are born; but I am not able to state the proportion as compared with other classes.
_There are some curious customs among the London sweepers_ which deserve notice. Their May-day festival is among the best known. The most intelligent of the masters tell me that they have taken this “from the milkmen’s garland” (of which an engraving has been given). Formerly, say they, on the first of May the milkmen of London went through the streets, performing a sort of dance, for which they received gratuities from their customers. The music to which they danced was simply brass plates mounted on poles, from the circumference of which plates depended numerous bells of different tones, according to size; these poles were adorned with leaves and flowers, indicative of the season, and may have been a relic of one of the ancient pageants or mummeries.
The sweepers, however, by adapting themselves more to the rude taste of the people, appear to have completely supplanted the milkmen, who are now never seen in pageantry. In Strutt’s “Sports and Pastimes of the People of England,” I find the following with reference to the milk-people:--
“It is at this time,” that is in May, says the author of one of the papers in the _Spectator_, “we see brisk young wenches in the country parishes dancing round the Maypole. It is likewise on the first day of this month that we see the ruddy milkmaid exerting herself in a most sprightly manner under a pyramid of silver tankards, and, like the Virgin Tarpeia, oppressed by the costly ornaments which her benefactors lay upon her. These decorations of silver cups, tankards, and salvers, were borrowed for the purpose, and hung round the milk-pails, with the addition of flowers and ribands, which the maidens carried upon their heads when they went to the houses of their customers, and danced in order to obtain a small gratuity from each of them. In a set of prints, called ‘Tempest’s Cries of London,’ there is one called the ‘Merry Milkmaid,’ whose proper name was Kate Smith. She is dancing with the milk-pail, decorated as above mentioned, upon her head. Of late years the plate, with the other decorations, were placed in a pyramidical form, and carried by two chairmen upon a wooden horse. The maidens walked before it, and performed the dance without any incumbrance. I really cannot discover what analogy the silver tankards and salvers can have to the business of the milkmaids. I have seen them act with much more propriety upon this occasion, when, in place of these superfluous ornaments, they substituted a cow. The animal had her horns gilt, and was nearly covered with ribands of various colours formed into bows and roses, and interspersed with green oaken leaves and bunches of flowers.”
[Illustration: THE MILKMAID’S GARLAND.
THE ORIGINAL OF THE SWEEP’S MAY-DAY EXHIBITION.]
With reference to the May-day festival of the sweepers the same author says:--“The chimney-sweepers of London have also singled out the first of May for their festival, at which time they parade the streets in companies, disguised in various manners. Their dresses are usually decorated with gilt paper and other mock fineries; they have their shovels and brushes in their hands, which they rattle one upon the other; and to this rough music they jump about in imitation of dancing. Some of the larger companies have a fiddler with them, and a Jack in the Green, as well as a Lord and Lady of the May, who follow the minstrel with great stateliness, and dance as occasion requires. The Jack in the Green is a piece of pageantry consisting of a hollow frame of wood or wicker-work, made in the form of a sugar-loaf, but open at the bottom, and sufficiently large and high to receive a man. The frame is covered with green leaves and bunches of flowers, interwoven with each other, so that the man within may be completely concealed, who dances with his companions; and the populace are mightily pleased with the oddity of the moving pyramid.”
Since the date of the above, the sweepers have greatly improved on their pageant, substituting for the fiddle the more noisy and appropriate music of the street-showman’s drum and pipes, and adding to their party several diminutive imps, no doubt as representatives of the climbing-boys, clothed in caps, jackets, and trowsers, thickly covered with party-coloured shreds. These still make a show of rattling their shovels and brushes, but the clatter is unheard alongside the thunders of the drum. In this manner they go through the various streets for three days, obtaining money at various places, and on the third night hold a feast at one of their favourite public-houses, where all the sooty tribes resort, and, in company with their wives or girls, keep up their festivity till the next morning. I find that this festival is beginning to disappear in many parts of London, but it still holds its ground, and is as highly enjoyed as ever, in all the eastern localities of the metropolis.
It is but seldom that any of the large masters go out on May-day; this custom is generally confined to the little masters and their men. The time usually spent on these occasions is four days, during which as much as from 2_l._ to 4_l._ a day is collected; the sums obtained on the three first days are divided according to the several kinds of work performed. But the proceeds of the fourth day are devoted to a supper. The average gains of the several performers on these occasions are as follows:--
My lady, who acts as Columbine, and receives 2_s._ per day.
My lord, who is often the master himself, but usually one of the journeymen 3_s._ „
Clown 3_s._ „
Drummer 4_s._ „
Jack in the green, who is often an individual acquaintance, and does not belong to the trade 3_s._ „
And the boys, who have no term term applied to them, receive from 1_s._ to 1_s._ 6_d._ „
The share accruing to the boys is often spent in purchasing some article of clothing for them, but the money got by the other individuals is mostly spent in drink.
The sweepers, however, not only go out on May-day, but likewise on the 5th of November. On the last Guy-Fawkes day, I am informed, some of them received not only pence from the public, but silver and gold. “It was quite a harvest,” they say. One of this class, who got up a gigantic Guy Fawkes and figure of the Pope on the 5th of November, 1850, cleared, I am informed, 10_l._ over and above all expenses.
For many years, also, the sweepers were in the habit of partaking of a public dinner on the 1st of May, provided for every climbing-boy who thought proper to attend, at the expense of the Hon. Mrs. Montagu. The romantic origin of this custom, from all I could learn on the subject, is this:--The lady referred to, at the time a widow, lost her son, then a boy of tender years. Inquiries were set on foot, and all London heard of the mysterious disappearance of the child, but no clue could be found to trace him out. It was supposed that he was kidnapped, and the search at length was given up in despair. A long time afterwards a sweeper was employed to cleanse the chimneys of Mrs. Montagu’s house, by Portman-square, and for this purpose, as was usual at the time, sent a climbing-boy up the chimney, who from that moment was lost to him. The child did not return the way he went up, but it is supposed that in his descent he got into a wrong flue, and found himself, on getting out of the chimney, in one of the bedrooms. Wearied with his labour, it is said that he mechanically crept between the sheets, all black and sooty as he was. In this state he was found fast asleep by the housekeeper. The delicacy of his features and the soft tones of his voice interested the woman. She acquainted the family with the strange circumstance, and, when introduced to them with a clean face, his voice and appearance reminded them of their lost child. It may have been that the hardships he endured at so early an age had impaired his memory, for he could give no account of himself; but it was evident, from his manners and from the ease which he exhibited, that he was no stranger to such places, and at length, it is said, the Hon. Mrs. Montagu recognised in him her long-lost son. The identity, it was understood, was proved beyond doubt. He was restored to his rank in society, and in order the better to commemorate this singular restoration, and the fact of his having been a climbing-boy, his mother annually provided an entertainment on the 1st of May, at White Conduit House, for all the climbing-boys of London who thought proper to partake of it. This annual feast was kept up during the lifetime of the lady, and, as might be expected, was numerously attended, for since there were no question asked and no document required to prove any of the guests to be climbing-boys, very many of the precocious urchins of the metropolis used to blacken their faces for this special occasion. This annual feast continued, as I have said, as long as the lady lived. Her son continued it only for three or four years afterwards, and then, I am told, left the country, and paid no further attention to the matter.
Of the story of the young Montagu, Charles Lamb has given the following account:--